by Vicki Hinze
Be patient with him.
Kelly might not trust herself, but she trusted God. “It’ll work out exactly as it’s supposed to work out. I believe that—enough for both of us.” She kissed him again.
At noon, Paul parked the Lexus half a block down from the crisis center and walked into the Shipping Store, then on toward the long brown counter.
A young man in uniform greeted him. “Yes sir. May I help you?”
Paul laid a large white envelope on the counter. “I need this delivered promptly at three o’clock today.”
The clerk twisted the envelope around and looked at the address. “You can walk this over. Crossroads Crisis Center is just a few doors down at the end of the block.”
Paul dropped a twenty onto the counter. “That’s why I’m having you deliver it. You won’t be late.”
Carl, according to his name badge, shot Paul a suspicious look. “What’s in here?”
“Nothing you need to worry about. A legal notice and some photographs. That’s all.”
“So why won’t you take it over yourself?”
“You ever been married, Carl?”
“Divorced.”
Paul mentally maneuvered. He could run with that—it could make the man slower to identify him—but another way was better. “My boss is Gregory Chessman. You know him?”
“Who doesn’t? He sent my son all the way to Atlanta for eye surgery and paid every bit of it.”
Paul smiled. “He’s a very good man, and very private.” He tapped the envelope. “You know then that he supports a lot of charities around here.”
“All of ’em.” Carl nodded enthusiastically. “Like you say, a good man. Self-made too. And he isn’t one to forget where he came from.”
Paul had no idea where Chessman had come from and neither did anyone else, though apparently many thought they knew. “He likes to donate as much as he can anonymously. That’s what this is all about.”
“No problem. I’ll take care of it. You want it dropped to anyone there, or just to this”—he paused to double-check the name—“Kelly Walker?”
“Anyone there is fine.” Paul lifted a finger. “Three o’clock.”
“I won’t be late. You give Mr. Chessman my best.”
“I will, Carl.” Paul resisted the urge to chuckle. He already had given the best of exactly what Chessman deserved. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
Sir. Paul liked that. He liked that very much.
25
Ben?”
Ben heard his name called out from the floor above and walked over to the staircase.
“Is that Jeff Meyers?” Kelly asked.
“No.” Ben cupped his hands at his mouth, then shouted up, “We’re down here, Mark. First bedroom on the right, go down the stairs.”
Mark’s footfall sounded as if he hit every other step. In short order, he stood before Ben. “This is a one-story beach house. Why are there stairs?” He looked beyond Ben and Kelly to scan the empty room. “What is this?”
“This area isn’t significant.” Ben walked around the empty cavity to the tunnel door. His voice echoed. “That area”—he pointed—“is probably very significant.”
Mark looked through the door into the tunnel. “Been down it yet?” He wiped dust off his hands.
“No,” Kelly answered first. “We thought we should wait for Detective Meyers since we have no idea what to expect.”
Mark looked from her to Ben. “Good thinking.” He reached around his back, then pulled out some kind of handheld meter. “Let’s take a peek.”
Ben skimmed the wall and found a light switch. “Do I dare turn it on?”
“No heat source on the meter. It should be okay.”
Ben flipped the switch. “Kelly, would you go upstairs and keep an eye out? If Jeff shows up, send him down. If you hear an uproar, call 911.” He passed her his cell phone.
Their hands brushed, and she lingered a second longer than necessary. “Be careful, okay?” When he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and winked, Kelly turned and went up the stairs.
Ben watched her go, hating the sadness in her eyes, but he had no idea how to remove it.
Mark caught that lingering touch and Ben watching her, but he showed restraint and didn’t mention it. Ben was glad about that. “Ready?”
Mark took off, and Ben followed him into the tunnel. Musty and a little damp, but no green mold. Concrete walls and floor. No footprints in the film of dust. “It’s been a while since anyone’s been down it.”
“Maybe,” Mark said. “Grainy. More sand than dust. This close to the water, that wouldn’t take long.”
Ben hadn’t thought of that, but sand would penetrate every crack and crevice.
The mouth of the tunnel opened into a large, wide room. In its center stood a shallow swimming pool. Mark motioned Ben to go left. Mark went right so they fanned out in opposing directions and ran a quick check, but no one was around and the two little alcoves weren’t outlets but shallow storage rooms.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Mark looked over at Ben. “The pool’s too small for laps, and there are no connecting rooms—no way out.”
Diving suits hung on hooks and a metal rack filled with tanks lined the wall. “Oxygen?” Ben guessed.
Mark glanced at his meter while walking over, then checked the tanks. “Appears to be.”
Ben squatted at the edge of the pool. The air was heavy and moist and smelled of tangy salt. A darkened spot he hadn’t seen through the reflection on the water appeared dead center in the bottom of the pool. “I think there is a way out.” He pointed to the spot. “Down there.”
Mark stooped down beside Ben. “I see it.”
Ben looked from the water to Mark. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I am if you’re thinking this goes out into the gulf.” Ben frowned and rubbed at his jaw, his muscles tensing. “They’re smuggling something.”
“Yeah.”
“What? Drugs?”
“I can’t see that,” Mark said. “It’s too easy to get them in straight from the beach, underground tunnels in Mexico and out west.” Mark swatted at his neck. “No, this is too elaborate for something as mundane as drugs and too expensive. They’re bringing in something less abundant. Something they need to be far more covert about bringing in.”
Ben agreed. Bad, bad things ran through his mind on the list of potentials.
“Oh, man.” Mark shot Ben a look. “NINA just claimed responsibility for bombing that mall in Mobile.”
“That’s a big leap, Mark.”
“Not so big. I talked to an FBI buddy of mine, and he said they had no idea NINA was functioning in this area. But Meyers mentioned when we talked this morning that the FBI had contacted the sheriff’s office on a tip that came through Homeland Security that the mall bombers had flown out of this area.”
“Impossible,” Ben said. “Our airport uses a military base’s runway. Only commercial jets can fly out of here.”
“Only commercial jets use our public airport. But we have two small airports private jets can use and a grass strip the banner flyers on the beach use regularly.”
“This was a private plane? The one the tip came in on?”
“Yeah, it was.” Mark frowned. “I know the manager at Destin Airport, and she’d tag and bag a planeload of terrorists. The woman’s been around the military all her adult life.”
“What about the others?”
“Just one, Crestburg Airport. But a jet couldn’t use the grass strip. Runway’s too short.”
“Okay,” Ben agreed, “that leaves one. What about it?”
“You tell me. Your buddy owns it.”
“My buddy?”
“Mayor Green.” Mark hiked up his eyebrows.
“Since when does he own it?”
“Since he married Darla.”
“She owns the airport?”
“She does.”
Ben digested that inf
ormation. “John would never have ties to NINA, Mark. He’s not the kind.”
“Maybe not. But maybe he isn’t who he appears to be.” Mark pulled out his cell, made a call, and put a man on checking out the airport’s management.
He also ordered a background check on Darla Green.
While he talked, Ben’s mind raced and he glanced from point to point in the poolroom. They could be smuggling a million different things. But if NINA was involved, then the list of possibilities was so dangerous it had him mentally staggering. Dirty bombs, biocontaminants, weaponry systems, blacklisted technology. Any of those things were likely. His gaze settled on the diving suits. Why were there so many?
When Mark hung up, Ben asked, “How many bombers does the FBI think were here on the Mobile mall bombing?”
“Five.”
That information shuddered through him. “There are five suits on that wall, Mark.”
He spun, counted. “Yeah, there are, and they could have skin cells, hair—forensic evidence intact that proves who wore them.” Mark reached for his phone again.
“Go to the FBI and then contact Jeff. I don’t think, under the circumstances, Hank Green should be involved. Not with his sister-in-law owning that airport.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Ben?” Kelly hung close to the door and looked down but saw no signs of Ben or Mark. She called out in a stage whisper, “Ben.”
He came toward her, and they met up at the mouth of the tunnel. “It’s safe. Has Jeff arrived?”
“Not yet, but I had to tell you.” She hooked a thumb, pointing upward. “Something really odd is going on here. I was looking around upstairs and I noticed something.”
“What?”
“All those crumpled-up newspapers on the floor—they’re foreign. Why would homeless people be reading foreign papers? Where would they get them?”
“They wouldn’t,” he said. “There’s something odd going on down here too.” He led her into the poolroom. “See that hole in the bottom?” He pointed. “We suspect it leads out into the gulf.”
“Wow.” She scanned the room slowly. “What is Chessman sneaking in here?”
“I don’t know, but we’d better find out.” Ben filled her in on the FBI lead to the mall bombers and NINA’s claiming responsibility.
“Oh no.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Ben, NINA is involved. My advisor warned me that it wasn’t just Chessman after me, it was a group I hadn’t heard of before—NINA.” She pulled it from memory. “Nihilists … something.”
“Nihilists in Anarchy?” Mark asked.
“Yes, that’s it.”
Ben shot Mark a knowing look. “There’s the connection.”
“Yeah.” Mark slapped at the air. “Chessman. I knew there was something off with that guy.”
“You were right,” Ben said. “Better call the FBI and update them on Kelly’s input. It could help them.”
Mark glanced over at her. “You’re positive this tunnel and poolroom weren’t here when you were?”
“Positive.” She adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “I wouldn’t miss a staircase in my bedroom.”
“I doubt you’ll know, but I have to ask.” Mark faced her.
“Go ahead,” she said, scraping the buttons on Ben’s cell phone with her thumbnail.
“What would you consider the odds of your aunt being a government agent?”
“Zero or less.” Kelly smiled. “I loved her, but she was artsy and eccentric. Not exactly spy material.”
“It wasn’t an act?”
Kelly’s smile faltered. “Aunt Beth also spent time in a mental institution—twice.”
“I didn’t know that.” Ben blinked hard.
“I didn’t either until she sued my guardian.” Kelly hiked a shoulder. “Aunt Beth heard a different drum and marched to it. That didn’t go over well with her father, so he committed her to straighten her out. It didn’t. But it did make her lose the lawsuit.”
“She was suing your guardian?” Ben asked. “For what?”
“Custody of me. He wanted me for the money. Don’t get me wrong; he was good to me, but Aunt Beth loved me.”
“So she lost the suit because of the commitments.”
“The judge couldn’t in good conscience place me in her care when he knew she’d had stability issues.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too, Ben.” She smiled. “So, Mark, to answer your question, no, it wasn’t an act. No government agency would touch her.”
“That had to be rough, it working out that way for you.” Ben squeezed her shoulder.
“I’ve been fine. My guardian wasn’t the warmest man, but he was meticulous about my being treated well.”
“That was a blessing.”
“Yes, it was.” She’d had enough of this conversation. It cut too close to the bone. “Better get that call in to the FBI. My advisor says this NINA group is a bad one. I’m still not sure when they got involved. I thought I had been running from Chessman and Johnson for three years, but apparently NINA’s after me too.”
“How many times have you been found?” Mark asked.
“They’ve been close enough that I’ve had to drop everything and just run four times, and on my heels so many times I’ve lost count—but I didn’t know who they were then. I thought it was just Chessman and Johnson and whoever that guy was they were talking to that night on the terrace. He has to be a NINA connection.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Ben told Mark. “Make the call.”
“Wait.” Kelly passed her glance between them. “Remember what Peggy said? There’ll be a special delivery to the center this afternoon. Maybe we should see what’s in it first before bringing in any outsiders.”
“The FBI—”
She cut Mark off. “When my advisor told me about NINA, I asked how he learned they were after me. He said I was safer not knowing—”
“I don’t see how that pertains, Kelly.”
She pivoted to look only at Ben. “And he told me that people are often the opposite of what they appear. That’s why I think we should wait.” She shrugged. “We have no idea who we can and cannot trust, and I still haven’t identified that NINA man working with them. I just want to be careful. It’s how I’ve stayed alive.”
“She’s got a point, Mark,” Ben said. “Especially considering the local royalty appear to be in up to their necks here.”
Mark grimaced. “I hate to agree, but at this point, I have to say anyone’s capable of anything.”
Ben’s cell phone rang. Kelly passed it to him.
He flipped it open. “Hello.”
“It’s Peg, Ben. That special delivery arrived.”
“What is it?”
“A nine-by-twelve white envelope addressed to Kelly. Since it was addressed to her, I didn’t open it.”
“Any residue or anything like that?”
“Harvey ran it through the new scanner. It’s safe.”
Relieved, Ben said, “We’re on our way.”
Ben relayed the information about the envelope’s arrival to Kelly and Mark as the three of them went back through the tunnel and then up the stairs. Nearing the top, Mark said, “Maybe I should hang around here until we know what’s in that envelope.”
“Good idea to have someone here, but you need to come with us to see what’s in that delivery.”
“I’ll be right behind you. Just want to touch base with Jeff Meyers first.”
“We’ll meet you there, then.” Ben headed straight for the front door. “Kelly, let’s go.”
She turned to Mark. “Do you have everything you need until someone gets here?”
“I’ll be fine, Kelly. Jeff’s ten minutes away. Thanks.”
“Be careful.”
Mark gave her a friendly wink, and she headed out to Ben’s SUV.
“You okay?” Ben asked, opening her car door.
She waited until he got inside, then reached for his hand. “Ben, I�
��ve got a bad, bad feeling about all this.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
Kelly entered Crossroads and paused to talk to Doris and Mel. “Everything okay?”
“I’ve been doing some filing for Mel,” Doris said. “We’re fine, but you look scared to death.”
She was. “No, I’m okay.” Okay? Had she really said that? Ben on the proverbial fence; her future, if no longer life, still pretty much a mystery; and that pool at Aunt Beth’s. People were out to kill her; Chessman or NINA surely would, if given the chance. Nothing was okay or fine.
But she was upright and fighting to sort it all out, and Ben didn’t doubt her anymore about Chessman being dirty. There was solace in that, and knowing the root of that solace stemmed from her faith, she wondered how Ben could handle all this mess with his faith in remission.
On that issue, remission rested much easier on her soul than denial. If the need arose, she’d deal with it later, after they’d resolved some of these other issues. But, oh, it was significant to her, and it just had to be resolved.
Peggy came into the reception area. “Kelly, Harvey and Lisa are in the conference room with the envelope. We’re all waiting for you to come open it.”
Kelly, Peggy, and Doris went back to the conference room. Ben was already there with Harvey and Lisa, sitting at the long table. The envelope was in front of the chair she’d sat in the last time they’d met. “Should I wear gloves?”
“Oh yes.” Peggy sprang from a seat and returned with a pair of gloves. She passed them to Kelly. “I should have thought of that.”
“It’s okay,” Harvey assured her. “I ran it through the paces.”
“An equipment gift from Gregory Chessman.” Ben groaned. “Double up on the gloves.”
“Why? What’s wrong with a gift from Gregory?” Harvey asked.
“Later.” Ben motioned to Kelly. “Go ahead.”
She put on the gloves, then used the letter opener to slice open the envelope and looked inside. Paper and photos. She dumped them out on the table. “No one touch them. If there are fingerprints and they’re important, we don’t want to mess them up.”
Touching only the least bit of the edges, she flipped the photos and lined them up in a row on the tabletop.